


The Tradition of Sprigs

by kuriadalmatia



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Drug Addiction, Fic Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuriadalmatia/pseuds/kuriadalmatia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch holds the sprig of mistletoe by the stem, cocks an eyebrow, and waits for an explanation. Because, in the four months Spencer Reid has been on his team, Hotch knows that there’s going to be one. What he doesn't know is that it will become a tradition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 24, 2004

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kadeeleigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadeeleigh/gifts).



> Spoilers for S7. Written for the FFN Christmas Exchange for Kadeeleigh. My assigned song title prompt and 3 prompts were: Baby It's Cold Outside, peppermint, mistletoe, snow. I hope I hit the marks.
> 
> Special thanks to Hotchaolic for the beta and discussion on about the ending. Any mistakes you find are mistakes are mine, all mine.
> 
> Feedback always welcome.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

**~~~~ 10:26PM, Reagan National Airport, DC. December 24, 2004 ~~~~**

Hotch can only stare at his subordinate in disbelief before he's able shake off the shock. He holds the sprig of mistletoe by the stem, cocks an eyebrow, and waits for an explanation. Because, God knows, in the four months Spencer Reid has been on his team, Hotch _knows_ that there's going to be one.

Yet all the younger man does is shrug and say, "You didn't have time to stop at a gift shop before they closed. This is Eastern mistletoe, one of the types found in Florida. Have a good Christmas."

Then, the newbie stuffs his hands in his pockets and saunters towards the airport's Metrorail exit like he's unaware he's just broken one of the biggest unspoken rules about sharing a room: pretend you don't hear a private conversation, particularly between your boss and his wife. What Reid doesn't know is that the 'I promise to bring you something' line Hotch always says means exactly the opposite. The last thing Haley wants is a reminder of all the places he's been because of the BAU, especially when he's forced to travel during a major holiday.

Hotch is tempted to pitch the mistletoe—there's no way in hell he's going to give it to his wife, even if it is a very romantic gesture and seasonally appropriate—but instead wraps it in a tissue and tucks it carefully in the front pocket of his briefcase.

Throwing away Reid's thoughtfulness—and just _where_ and _when_ did he get the fresh sprig while they were working that case in Lakeland?—would be rude.

Aaron Hotchner, despite all his flaws, tries his best not to be rude to those he cares about.


	2. December 27, 2005

**~~~~ 1:45PM Youngstown, New York. December 27, 2005 ~~~~**

It's below freezing, there's a mass grave in Fort Niagara State Park, and Hotch has blisters from the boots he just purchased because loafers and a foot of snow and slush do not mix. He probably deserves the wounds because he failed to check the weather before packing for the trip, hence only having dress shoes. Haley hadn't been particularly helpful—while it isn't _technically_ the second Christmas in a row he's spent away, it's close enough in her mind—so he wonders what she'll say when he tells her about the new boots.

He wonders how Reid is fairing, because tromping through a state park covered in a foot of snow isn't something he imagines the Vegas-reared, CalTech graduate ever doing. So far, Reid has been quiet, unlike Morgan who has been bitching about the 'winter wonderland' since they got here. It's odd, certainly, because Morgan grew up with lake effect snow so it should be no big deal. Hotch wonders if Morgan's moaning and groaning is for Reid's benefit, so that the younger agent knows that he won't be teased for grousing about the weather

Hotch and Reid follow Deputy Moser to the gravesite. A nature photographer discovered the first corpse five days ago; the current theory is that it was buried in a shallow grave and that animals uncovered it. Six additional women have been found, their bodies in various states of decomposition.

"It's been below freezing since the 16th," Reid states as they slowly circle the area. His words are muffled by his purple scarf, wrapped around his mouth and nose. His gloved hands are shoved deeply in the pockets of his pea coat. "The ground was too hard for the UnSub to bury the body deep enough."

It makes sense, and also reconfirms the importance of the dumpsite for the UnSub. Hotch and Reid work through the rest of the crime scene, firming up the victimology and discussing how the UnSub will react to his burial site being compromised. Thirty minutes later, they're trudging back towards the SUV; Hotch can't wait to sit in the front seat and blast the heater on his nearly numb feet.

Along the way, Deputy Moser asks thoughtful questions and provides some insight about the state park. Reid doesn't seem to be paying much attention; he's too busy looking intently up at the trees as they pass by. Hotch wonders if his agent is trying to spot some native birds to tell Gideon about. Their mentor-protégé relationship has undergone quite a few changes in the past year and a half, changes that Hotch welcomes. After all, Reid is a competent agent, not someone who needs to cling to the coattails of a respected profiler. Reid has taken quite a few steps to break out of that shadow. It's Gideon who insists on the chess games on the flights home, who brings Reid dusty tomes for them to discuss, and who gives Reid little tasks to complete.

God, Hotch hopes that bird-watching isn't the latest way Gideon is trying to shape the younger man into his image. He wonders when he'll have to step in, how Gideon will take it, and just what he's supposed to say to Reid.

Suddenly, Reid asks them to hold up for a moment. They watch as Reid bounds up to a tree; it's weird how a man who runs like a wobbly lemming on dry land looks positively _graceful_ as he sprints in the goddamn snow.

Hotch is expecting him to shout some amazing observation—it's a trait Gideon and Reid share—but instead …

Hotch blinks.

_No. He can't be climbing the damn tree!_

But Reid is most definitely shimmying up the trunk of a spruce, using the lower branches to haul himself up higher. It takes everything for Hotch to keep his jaw from dropping open, because, _what the fuck?_ In the catalog of odd behavior by Reid, this was definitely one of the _weirdest_.

The deputy falls silent for a moment before asking, "Is he like one of those Sherlock-esque detectives?"

"How'd you guess?" Hotch answers with a small grin, and files away the terminology for later use. It's by far the most complimentary description he's ever heard about Reid's quirks. His opinion of Moser raises a few more notches, because most other cops would be making snide remarks.

Reid paws at a cluster of greenery on one of the branches before jumping down from his perch. He charges back up to them and huffs out, "Thanks for waiting."

"Do you need an evidence bag?" Moser asks.

Reid blinks. "Ah. No. Um. Here." He shows a small clump of ugly brownish-green nobs to Hotch. "It's _Arceuthobium Pusillum_."

Hotch holds out his hand and the … _whatever_ it is … is placed in his gloved palm. He's not going to embarrass Reid by being hesitant, even if he has no idea what the hell is being given to him.

"This is a well-traveled path, right?" Reid addresses Moser, who attention is focused on the clump of green.

"Uh. Yeah," Moser replies.

"Hotch, I don't think the UnSub is familiar with the area," Reid states as he shoves his hands in his pockets again. "Otherwise, he would have buried the bodies in a more obscure location."

He immediately sees where Reid is going. "The UnSub recently moved here. He followed someone out to Youngstown."

"Most likely his first victim," the younger agent concludes.

Hotch nods, carefully closing his fist round the plant, and gestures towards the SUV. "We'll need to call Garcia and have her rerun that list."

Later, when Hotch is alone in his hotel room, he fires up Google and tries his best to remember what Reid called the green thing he plucked from the tree. After several combinations, he finally gets it right.

_Arceuthobium Pusillum._

Eastern Dwarf Mistletoe.

Hotch smiles, wraps it in a tissue and tucks it in the front of his briefcase.


	3. December 22, 2006

**~~~~ 2:37 AM Reading, California. December 22, 2006 ~~~~**

Hotch rummages through his briefcase as quietly as he can, searching for that elusive bottle of Excedrin he keeps on hand when his headaches morph into that unbearable throbbing that will keep him up the rest of the night. Reid's a light sleeper—Hotch discovered that two years ago when they first shared a room—so he tries his best to keep the noise to a minimum.

It was a rough case for all of them; the ones around the holidays always seem the worst. Plus, he's still not sure about Prentiss being on the team. Although she has handled herself admirably so far and swore that she hated politics, he still doesn't trust her. He tries his best to hide it and wonders how well he's doing. It's not like he can ask someone, not even Reid, who will answer honestly and not give a second thought about why he's been asked.

Hotch gives up on finding anything in his briefcase, so he goes to the closet, hauls out his go bag, and takes it to the bathroom. The bright light adds to his pain as he scrounges around the various pockets. He's tempted to upend the damn thing in the bathtub, shaking it hard until all the contents fall out, but the tub is still wet from when Reid showered before going to bed.

He growls as he realizes that not only is his precious bottle of Excedrin is nowhere to be found, neither are the rest of the pain medications he stashes in his bags. He usually has two unmarked pill bottles in which he keeps an assortment of Tylenol, aspirin, and Alleve in addition to the Excedrin, but …

"Shit," he snaps as he stuffs his underwear back in his bag. Hotch remembers taking them out to refill them after his last case and obviously he forgot to put them back in his bags. A light knock startles him and he snarls, "What?" Guilt hits next. He sets his bag on the ground and opens the door, still wincing from the bright light. "Sorry I woke you."

"I really don't sleep all that much," Reid confesses with a shrug. He pauses before pushing his glasses in place. "May I, ah, help you look for something?"

For a split-second, Hotch is annoyed. He's unsure why. Maybe because it's almost three in the morning and his roommate is being far too generous for such an early hour. Then again, Reid probably thinks that if he helps Hotch find whatever he's looking for, he can go back to bed and not be disturbed again.

"I have a headache and I can't find anything to take for it."

"Hmmm," is all Reid says before he disappears back into the main part of the hotel room.

Hotch leans against the doorjamb, eyes closed and head throbbing, and hopes to God that Reid has something that's fast acting. He's not sure how much time has passed before Reid is grasping his wrist, opening his hand, and shaking something into his palm. Hotch opens his eyes to find three extra-strength Excedrin— _Thank you, pharmaceutical companies, for branding your pills_ —and suddenly, his headache is less intense.

"Thanks," he says before popping the pills and dry-swallowing. What he's not expecting is an unopened bottle of water pressed into his hand the moment he lowers it. Hotch stares for a moment before his gaze meets the concerned one from Reid. He nods gratefully, opens the bottle and chugs half of it down. Again, he says, "Thanks."

"You'd do the same for me," Reid states quietly, matter-of-factly. He steps back and gestures towards the two beds.

Amused that Reid has decided to become his caretaker, Hotch walks over to his bed, places the water on the nightstand, and crawls beneath the covers. He listens as Reid messes around in the bathroom— _Please, God, don't let him be repacking my bag!_ —and is thankful that Reid is his bunkmate instead of Gideon or Morgan.

He hears the bathroom door close—it's got a slight squeak when it hits the 15 degree angle mark—and the brush of Reid's feet against the carpet.

"Did you know that mistletoe extract has been marketed as a cure-all for everything from migraines to cancer?" Reid asks as he gets into his own bed.

Hotch snorts as he glances over. "Are you saying you have a mistletoe chaser in your bag?"

The low light from the bathroom reflects off Reid's glasses. "No. Well. Not really. I mean, I have mistletoe—Sugar Pine Dwarf Mistletoe is one of the species found in California—but not as medicine. It's for you. In case you don't have time to pick something up at the gift shop before we head home. For Christmas."

For a moment, Hotch is speechless. Then, he rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He realizes that it's the third year in a row he's been away from home during the Christmas holiday, but it's also the third year in a row he's been with Reid. The man seems to have made the whole mistletoe thing into a tradition.

Hell, the man climbed a damn tree last year for it. God only knows what he did _this_ year.

"Thanks," he says earnestly, although he doesn't have the heart to tell Reid that the two sprigs of mistletoe currently reside in his desk drawer of his home office.

"You're welcome."

Forty-eight hours later as they're about to deplane in DC, Reid hands him a small white box. Hotch knows it's the mistletoe. For a second, he wants to pluck it from the box, hold it above their heads, and insist that Reid give him a kiss.

He blames those feelings on a rough case, a red-eye flight, and a definite lack of sleep.


	4. December 25, 2007

**~~~~ 10:37 AM Washington, DC. December 25, 2007 ~~~~**

The worst of it is over.

At least, Aaron hopes so.

When he got here last night, he dragged the leather chair from Reid's living room into the bedroom. It's a comfortable piece of furniture, but definitely not something he wants to sleep in on a regular basis. Reid is huddled beneath a mound of blankets, reciting the symptoms of withdrawal _again_. Aaron hopes it helps Reid keep his focus, although he could really do without the detailed descriptions of vomiting and diarrhea followed by actual vomiting and … well … Aaron's thankful that Reid manages to get to the toilet each time. Cleaning up baby shit is one thing.

Wiping his subordinate's ass is something else entirely.

Although Aaron will do it, without hesitation, because if he'd only been a bit more vigilant, a bit more supportive, then maybe Reid would have kicked the habit sooner. Maybe he wouldn't have had it at all.

"I'm sorry," Reid suddenly apologizes, teeth chattering. "It's Christmas. This makes four in a row you haven't been home. I'm sorry…"

"Reid … _Spencer_ ," he corrects himself yet again. He's not here as Reid's boss, but as a friend. "It's okay."

"You should fire me."

Aaron sighs, because God, they've been over this at least twenty times. "I won't."

"You should."

"I _won't_."

"You should be home."

"I'm where I need to be."

That earns a 'pffft' as Reid pulls the covers down just enough to reveal the top of his head and his eyes. "It's your son's second Christmas. You should be with him."

"He's with Haley and her family in Georgia." Aaron leaves out that he wasn't invited because, really, he needs to focus on Reid. But Reid, even in the nastiest of withdrawal symptoms, is still sharp and curious. Aaron realizes that, Christ, he's just given Reid something to latch onto just like earlier in the morning, when Reid dissected Aaron's behavior shortly after Gideon left.

 _You're angry that there wasn't a letter addressed to you_ , Reid concluded. _No. That's not it. You're mad that he didn't tell you personally that he was leaving, because after everything you did on his behalf in the wake of the Bale bombings, you believed–and rightly so—that he owned you something. I promise you this, Hotch. I won't just disappear. I'll be man enough to tell you to your face that I'm leaving._

Aaron braces himself for another insightful lecture by the three-time PhD, but is surprised when there's nothing but silence. He risks meeting the man's gaze and he's surprised to find the deep sorrow in Reid's eyes. Reid's voice is soft, tentative. "You'll call him today, right?"

"He's two, Spencer," Aaron replies quietly.

"Jack still knows the sound of your voice."

Aaron almost says, _Not according to my wife_ , but holds back. Instead he says, "Christmas service lasts until noon."

Reid opens his mouth, but abruptly shuts it. He flings the covers back, grimaces and then scrambles out of bed. Aaron clears a path; they've done this little shtick a lot over the past twelve hours. Moments later, Reid huddles over the toilet and makes these god-awful sounds. At least Aaron's not a sympathy-puker, else he'd be yarfing it up in the wastebasket next to Reid.

Aaron fills the plastic cup with water and sets it next to the commode. Reid, in the meantime, has gone stock still. "Spencer?"

"Could you …" Reid gestures a little with his left hand but refuses to look up. He lets out a long breath and then, "I have some sweatpants in the left bottom drawer…"

"I'll be right back," he says calmly, as he if he does this every damn day. Puking so hard that one shits himself is embarrassing enough. To have a witness … Christ. Aaron quickly finds the requested sweatpants and then pulls out a pair of clean underwear. He wordlessly sets them on the sink and closes the door once he exits.

He straightens out the covers on the bed, patting them down to see if they are sweat-soaked. Since they're not, he doesn't change the bed. Aaron then goes to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He hopes Reid can get down bouillon and some tea and have it _stay_ down. He's hungry himself, but nothing in Reid's fridge or pantry is appealing, although he now has an insight into Reid's culinary tastes. So he pulls out the stack of takeout menus in one of the kitchen drawers and pages through them.

It's not the first time Aaron has had Chinese takeout on Christmas. With the way things are going at home, he supposes it won't be his last.

He's debating between Buddha's Delight and General Tao's Chicken when he hears Reid shuffling up behind him. Aaron turns and he tries his best to keep his features neutral, but in the bright sunlight of Reid's apartment, Reid looks like death warmed over and then some.

"Tea or bouillon?" Aaron asks.

"The, ah, peppermint tea, please."

"Why don't you go back to bed? I'll bring it to you."

Reid whispers, "Thank you," but he sounds broken and tired and just not like Reid.

Aaron finds himself pulling the younger man into a hard hug, just like he did on that awful night in Georgia when they'd found Reid digging his own grave.

 _Why, oh why, did I think Jason could handle this?_ Aaron asks himself for the umpteenth time.

Spencer returns the embrace, slumping against Aaron as he holds on tight. That's when the details from when Spencer was held captive—those that never made it to the official reports—come tumbling out of Spencer's mouth. The younger man doesn't sob through his story, just breathlessly recounts dealing with Raphael, Charles and Tobias and how, in the end, he killed Charles to save Tobias.

Then finally … finally the confession that stuns Aaron the most: "That moment I spent with Tobias at the end wasn't to say goodbye. It was to retrieve the drugs I knew he had in his pocket, because I knew I would need those to get through the night."

For a moment, Aaron wonders how the hell those vials didn't end up in evidence. Spencer's clothes were processed afterwards, which is standard procedure for a case. He then remembers Spencer asking for his messenger bag once they'd gotten him over to an ambulance; he'd left it in the SUV. He remembers how JJ rushed to get it, busting past cops and medics in order to get it to Spencer. He remembers how Spencer rifled through it, an action they all dismissed as initial PTSD and general "Reid-ness."

He knows why Spencer is now telling him this.

Aaron presses his lips to Spencer's ear and says quietly, "I forgive you."

Those three words trigger the tears in both of them. They cry quietly together until the kettle shrills.

It takes three days for Spencer to fully detox.

Those three harrowing days oddly make up for Aaron being separated from his son on the holiday, and Aaron can't quite explain why.

It's not until four months later, when Aaron is packing up his belongings to move out of his home, that he realizes it was the first Christmas in four years that he didn't get a sprig of mistletoe from Spencer.

He realizes how much he misses it.


	5. December 26, 2008

**~~~~ 1:52 PM San Juan, Puerto Rico. December 26, 2008 ~~~~**

The team ends up in San Juan for Christmas 2008, a fact that Hotch does _not_ disclose to Haley because she'd always want to go on a tropical holiday and she'll probably turn that fact into an argument. Not that it matters now—the divorce has been final for over eight months now—but there are still tensions between them, especially when it comes to him spending time with Jack.

The case is solved in the wee hours of Boxing Day, a Commonwealth holiday Hotch began celebrating in his own quiet way after spending six months working with Kate Joyner way back when. He doesn't consider himself an Anglophile, but Boxing Day just made sense to him at the time. In the wake of Kate's death six months ago—the nightmares from that whole ordeal still keep him up at night—Hotch feels obligated to honor it. He chooses to have high quality rum delivered to his team in their rooms, but for Spencer, he also sends a small Careta mask.

Aaron's not trying to send any particular message with the mask. It's just something he saw Spencer admiring in the gift shop.

It's been a tough year for them both. Spencer's sobriety has its harrowing moments—the stunt in West Bune, Texas is forever seared in Aaron's mind—as has Aaron's dealing with his own divorce. That fiasco with Hardwick haunts the hell of out Aaron, because in his dreams, Spencer doesn't talk their way out of it. Occasionally, Spencer stops in Aaron's office to talk about a case and after he leaves, Aaron finds an NA coin just _there_ on his desk. Spencer's a magician and he seems to like showing that skill off to Aaron. Then again, Aaron supposes he's the only one who knows just _how_ skilled the man is. They never talk about what happened last year, although Hotch wants to dig up the courage to tell him, "If I hadn't been focusing on you, I would have focused on my liquor cabinet."

The team votes to stay in San Juan an extra day, which is why they're all currently walking one of the paths through El Yunque. Like Reid, it's the first rain forest Aaron has even been to. The rest of the team have been to one before, mostly via the hiking tour on Maui, but Prentiss and Rossi also compare notes on their time in Costa Rica and Brazil. Reid is bursting with information and (of course) annoys the hell of out their tour guide, so Aaron hangs back and Reid automatically lingers with him. Aaron listens, in awe of the sheer wealth of knowledge that is stored in Reid's brain.

"Goldenfruit mistletoe," Reid suddenly announces as he points to a cluster of green in the trees.

"What? You're not going to climb up and get it for me?" The words are out before Aaron can process what he's actually saying. He wants to blush. He wants to ram his head against the nearest tree. All he can do is quirk a half-grin and hope to God Reid's not going to call him on it.

Reid stares at him for a moment. "It's illegal."

"And what happened in Fort Niagara State Park wasn't?" _Shut it, Hotchner! What are you doing? He gave you an out and you dropped the ball!_ Yet Aaron can't help but waggle his eyebrows and deliver a full-blown smile.

The younger man's face turns red. He looks away. He toes the ground. There's a long pause. Aaron knows he should have kept that comment to himself, but then Reid confesses, "It was never a judgment on your marriage."

"What?"

Reid lets out a long sigh. "Mistletoe is a parasite. It infects healthy trees and feeds off them. While I understand why in medieval times it was a sign of male virility, I fail to see why such value is placed on it nowadays."

"Well, most people believe that Jesus was actually born on December 25," Aaron counters.

"And you don't?"

"Unlike a majority of people, my faith isn't based on what I learned in fourth grade."

Reid suddenly laughs as he shoves his hands in his pockets. "If the die-hard Christians ever acknowledged that a majority of their traditions are hijacked from other religions …"

"That's not going to happen. And to your earlier concern, I never interpreted the mistletoe in a negative way. It was a thoughtful gift from you. One that I treasure. Still."

"But you don't have to bring home a gift for Haley."

"I have a confession, Spencer," Aaron says, deliberately using the man's first name. "I never gave the mistletoe to Haley. Like I said, it was a gift from you. I didn't want to tarnish it with bad memories."

Reid looks away after that statement.

Aaron considers banging his head against the nearest tree, even if it's covered with a poisonous vine that would probably give him a nasty rash that would last for months.

Yet the next morning, as they're deplaning from the jet in DC, Spencer hands him a small white box and says, "For your collection."

Nestled in the fake cotton is a sprig of green. On the inside of the box lid is written, "Piper's Mistletoe, Puerto Rico."

Aaron smiles.

He invites Reid to have dinner with him.

Reid accepts.


	6. December 24, 2009

**~~~~ 10:13 PM Washington, DC. December 24, 2009 ~~~~**

Spencer single-handedly saves Christmas Eve for Jack, because Jess is drunk on bourbon and passed out on the couch. Aaron's halfway there. He hasn't been home for Christmas for the last God only knows how many years and he has absolutely no clue what to do. So, he falls back on his parents' habit of drinking until he can come up with a plan.

Haley is dead.

Murdered by a madman Aaron should have put a bullet in when he had that chance in Boston.

Aaron's drowning. Jess is drowning. Jack … God only knows what Jack thinks.

The only reason Aaron isn't stone cold drunk is because Spencer shows up at 7 PM armed with two grocery bags and his overnighter.

Spencer sets up shop in the kitchen and invites Jack to make chocolate chip cookies for Santa. He pulls out a misshapen stoneware dish with "For Mr. Claus" written crookedly in orange on a green background. He explains that this is the plate he uses every Christmas and look! There's a space for an apple and some carrots so that Rudolph and his fellow reindeer can have a snack as well.

Aaron can only sit at the breakfast bar, a mug of decaf tea clutched in his hands (one that Spencer brews for him within the first five minutes of being there), and watch as the skinny kid that everyone dismisses as "socially inept" works his magic. By 9 PM, Jack is fast asleep after Spencer's animated rendition of _'Twas the Night Before Christmas_.

Aaron wants to be embarrassed, but there's part of him that really wants that dreamless heavy state that can only be achieved by alcohol. He watches as Spencer effortlessly maneuvers Jess into a more comfortable sleeping position on the couch, covers her with a blanket retrieved from the closet, and places a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water on the end table for her.

When that's finished, Spencer asks where the presents from Santa are hidden, and if it's the Hotchner tradition to wrap the Santa gifts or take them out of the box because they came straight from the elf factory.

Despite his sister-in-law being drunk and him being half-wasted, the most humiliating thing of the night is Aaron's answer: "I don't know." Because he doesn't. He really, honestly doesn't. He closes his eyes, wondering why he's allowing his subordinate to see him in such a miserable, pathetic state. But compared to two years ago… he wonders if Spencer feels obligated to do this.

So, Aaron clears his throat and it takes a few tries for him to say, "You don't have to do this. Henry's… Henry's two. You should be over at JJ and Will's, telling Henry about feeding the reindeer, not here."

"I'm where I need to be," Spencer declares softly yet firmly.

It's heartfelt and it's truthful. It's said without pity or guilt or any hint of obligation. It's honest and it's _Spencer_.

It dawns on Aaron that Spencer's not here to repay a debt. He's here as a friend. A very close friend who spends more time with him and Jack nowadays than Dave does. Tears prickle Aaron's eyes as he opens them and he whispers, "Thank you."

This time, it's Spencer enveloping him in a tight embrace. It's _Spencer's_ softly spoken words, "The first step is forgiving yourself," that trigger a choked sob from Aaron.

They end up sharing Aaron's bed because Aaron refuses to allow Spencer to sleep on the floor. Nothing happens, but it's the first sound sleep Aaron has had in ages, and he knows it probably isn't because of the booze.

Christmas morning isn't the joyous or even semi-joyous occasion that Aaron has (foolishly) been hoping for. Jack dashes around the entire apartment, ignoring the wrapped gifts and the new ones from Santa as he opens closets and cabinets. When Aaron finally sits him down, Jack bawls that he's been a really good boy and he doesn't understand why Santa didn't give him the gift he really wants: his mommy.

For all Aaron's touted negotiation skills. For all the times he's been able to explain the most difficult of things to children, he finds himself unable to speak the lines he's been rehearsing since he took Jack to the mall for pictures with Santa. He knew this question was coming. It's why he carefully prepared an answer. Maybe he can't get the words out because Jess hiccups as she tries not to cry. Maybe it's because Spencer standing next to the Christmas tree, lips pursed as if in disappointment.

Finally, finally Aaron explains that Santa's magic doesn't bring people back to life, no matter how hard someone wishes for it.

Jack screams that he hates Christmas, how it's not fair that Santa ate the cookies and fed his reindeer, and he runs to his room. His sobs echo in the apartment. Jess collapses into the armchair and cries quietly. Aaron sinks down on the couch, staring at his son's bedroom and debating on how long to wait until he goes in there and talks to Jack.

Spencer… Spencer walks over to Aaron and places his hand on Aaron's shoulder as he sits next to him. Aaron finds himself leaning in to the touch, trying to absorb every ounce of unspoken comfort being offered.

The Christmas gifts go unopened for two days.

On the morning of the 27th, however, Jack finally shows an interest in the brightly wrapped packages. Jess comes over and the three of them exchange gifts. It's a subdued, liquor-free celebration.

When Jess hands him the small, plain white box, Aaron knows immediately that it's from Spencer and what it is. He wishes he had called Spencer that morning to come over. He glances at his watch—it's almost noon—and decides that Spencer deserves a 'do over' Christmas as much as the rest of them.

He holds on to the gift until Spencer shows up for dinner. He doesn't open it until after Jack is in bed and Jess has already left.

"Oak mistletoe," Aaron reads the card and then takes the sprig from its box. It's the prettiest of the ones he's been given so far and, yeah, he can finally see the whole 'male virility' thing that Spencer once mentioned.

This time, he gives into the impulse to step close to Spencer, hold the sprig over their heads, and kiss him on the corner of his mouth. It's quick and chaste and Spencer doesn't slug him, so Aaron hopes that it's okay.

Spencer smiles shyly at him. "I've never received a kiss under mistletoe."

Aaron's surprised, because he's certain Garcia or JJ would have subjected him to the tradition by now. Yet then he searches his own memory for instances of smooching below said sprig. When he can't recall a single time, he grins a little. "Neither have I."

They share a chuckle.

They sit next to each other on the couch, Aaron's arm casually around Spencer's shoulders.

Nothing else happens that night, but Aaron realizes that he _wants_ things to happen and, based on Spencer's post-kiss behavior, Spencer seems to want them, too.


	7. December 24, 2010

**~~~~ 11:39 PM Washington, DC. December 24, 2010 ~~~~**

Jack loves Christmas again.

A large part of that is because Spencer has become a permanent part of their lives, at least that's what Aaron chooses to believe.

Sure, Aaron and Spencer have their ups and downs, but they've been able to navigate their relationship without any major catastrophes and it keeps growing stronger. The lease on Aaron's apartment is due up in February, and Spencer is just as much part of the house-hunting process as Jack. The new stability in Aaron's life has made it easier and he knows that it's positively affected how Jack relates to everything.

The team spends Christmas Eve at Dave's, a first for the crew. Aaron and Spencer haven't officially outed themselves, but they both know it's pretty obvious; Dave's frequent tease of "you've got googly-eyes for him, don't deny it, Aaron" comes quickly to mind. They also both know that Jack's affection for Spencer is a dead giveaway that Spencer is a bit more than "a really close friend of Daddy's."

It's been a somewhat good year, even though the State Department hijacked JJ from the BAU. She's there with Will and Henry, and Spencer does the whole 'godfather' thing for Henry. Aaron worries that Jack will have issues with Spencer doting on his godson. When Jack gets that possessive glint in his eyes and that downturn of his lips, Aaron discreetly pulls him aside.

He gently explains (again) about godparents—Jess makes up where Sean fails—and that Spencer hasn't seen Henry in a while.

Jack frowns as he asks, "But Spencer's coming home with _us_ , right?"

"Yes, he is, buddy."

And that's all it takes. Jack shakes his head once and says, "Okay," before dashing back into the living room and telling Henry to be sure to put apples and carrots out for the reindeer tonight because Spencer always does.

The adventure at Coach Dave's wears Jack out and he's in bed with minimal fuss once they set out the snacks for Santa and his team.

As it approaches midnight, Aaron can't help think how different this is from past years.

It's been drama-free and case-free.

Jack is happy.

Spencer is happy.

Hell, _Aaron's_ happy and for the first time in a very long time, he knows he's going to have a Merry Christmas.

"I love you," he says as he pulls Spencer onto his lap.

"Love you, too," Spencer replies, but there's a quizzical edge to his tone. They don't declare their love aloud all that often. They both prefer gestures and oddball references because those feel more intimate.

They kiss, and it's slow and sensual and perfect like it's supposed to be.

When they break, Spencer leans back and does that hand-wave/shake he does when doing a magic trick. Suddenly, there's a small while box in his hand and he presents it to Aaron. "I know it's early."

Aaron grins widely as he carefully lifts the lid.

He stares.

Because it isn't some ordinary sprig of mistletoe.

It's a delicate yet very masculine platinum tie tack in the shape of oak mistletoe.

"Spence," he breathes, because he immediately knows the meaning behind it.

Platinum won't wilt. It won't decay. It will last forever.

All doubts Aaron has about the relationship are swept away.

"Merry Christmas, Aaron."


	8. December 25, 2011

**~~~~ 9:59 PM Washington, DC. December 25, 2011 ~~~~**

Aaron's not sure why he's doing this. Correction, he _knows_ why. Waiting for the perfect moment means waiting for a damn long time. And, if anything, this year has hammered home that waiting around means a lot of missed opportunities and _by God_ he knows he can't miss another opportunity.

He's just surprised he's worked up the nerve to finally _do_ it.

The whole "Prentiss is dead … not!" hurt the team badly, and the only rift that really hasn't healed is the one between Spencer and JJ (the one between Spencer and Prentiss is marginally better, but not by much). He tells Spencer repeatedly that if there's anyone to be really pissed at, it should be him. However, Spencer always replies, "I should have figured it out when you refused to tell Jack that Emily was dead. We couldn't even acknowledge it at home."

Which is true, because the last thing Aaron ever wants to do is to explain to his child that some people can come back from the dead and others can't.

The only explanation Spencer gives whenever Aaron presses about JJ is, "She's just not someone I feel comfortable being around anymore." Translated: Spence doesn't trust JJ. Aaron understands. JJ isn't the same person she was before her stint at the State Department. She's a bit colder and a bit more aggressive, as if being a full-fledged profiler means she has to give up that softer, compassionate side that made her so effective when dealing with families and the media.

Christmas Eve at Dave's is a bit more tense than usual, probably because it's so obvious Spencer has forgiven everyone else _but_ JJ, but they make it through. Spencer is laser-precise in his affections; Henry is clueless that there are issues between his mother and Spencer. He may pick up on the frustration emanating from Will, but that's only because Spencer has forgiven Will completely and won't do the same for JJ.

The next morning, Jess comes over early for the first round of presents and Christmas brunch, Spencer Reid style, but she's gone by 2 PM. As the unwed matriarch of what's left of the Brooks clan, she's now responsible for making all the rounds on the holidays. Aaron, Spencer and Jack spend the rest of the afternoon playing the new games Jack received.

Now, it's a minute shy of 10PM and Aaron's palms are sweaty. Spencer knows something's up just by the way he pauses ever so slightly as he changes topics as they converse. The clock on the mantle chimes the hour and Spencer smiles warmly. He does his waving-hand thing and produces the now familiar small white box. He hands it to Aaron, who accepts it and curses inwardly because there's no mistaking the nervous tremble in his own hands.

Aaron opens the box and finds a set of cufflinks in the same delicate, muted design as last year's tie tack. It's proof that Aaron found the right jeweler, the one who owns the small shop in Georgetown and who nodded vigorously as Aaron lined up the six sprigs of mistletoe and told him what he wanted. It should have cost Aaron a fortune, but it didn't.

All the jeweler asked for was referrals and handed Aaron a stack of his cheaply printed business cards. Aaron had handed the cards back with the emergency $100 bill he kept in his wallet, and he told the jeweler he would be glad to hand out the cards once they were professionally produced. When Aaron received the finished product six weeks later, he handed the handsomely redesigned card to Garcia and said, "On December 26, promote the hell out of this man." She smiled and said, "Your wish is my command, my liege."

Now, the exquisitely carved cufflinks give him the courage to pull the custom-crafted velvet box from his pants pocket. He doesn't drop to one knee—he'd done that with Haley after a carriage ride through the city—but takes Spencer's hand.

"Will you do me the honor of being my husband and Jack's father?" Aaron opens the box as he asks.

Spencer stares.

Spencer's mouth drops open.

Spencer steadies his hand.

"You tracked down Dramon. Did Garcia …?"

Aaron blinks. He swallows hard. He fights the disappointment that this won't be The Perfect Moment like it was with Haley … but then realizes he doesn't want it to be like the last time.

This is Spencer.

It doesn't have to be perfect.

This is who and what he wants.

"I tracked down Dramon on my own," Aaron states. "He's the only jeweler in Georgetown who specializes in hand-carved, cast platinum jewelry."

Spencer thumbs the two rings with the six species of mistletoe intricately carved in the bands. "My mother has schizophrenia."

"My parents were alcoholics."

"Schizophrenia is genetic."

"Not entirely genetic. It depends on who you read. Alcoholism and abuse follow genetic lines as well."

"Aaron …"

"Spencer …"

For those long, long moments … Aaron fears that he will be rejected. Then Spencer offers a wry smile. "Our relationship is symbolized by a parasitic organism."

"Our relationship is what it is, symbolism be damned."

"You're proposing to me on _Christmas_ , Aaron."

"Because that's the day when I realized that I had to have you in my life. Hell, if it was Columbus Day, we'd have the three ships on the mantelpiece."

Spencer coughs out a laugh. "I'm going to hold you to that last statement."

"You didn't answer my initial question."

Spencer bites his lips. "Those three ships better be on the mantelpiece."

"Why?"

"Because my future husband promised they would be."


	9. December 24, 2029

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A twenty-three year old Jack Hotchner brings his girlfriend home to celebrate the holiday with his parents.

**~~~~ 2:23 PM Washington, DC. December 24, 2029 ~~~~**

"What's the deal with your dads and mistletoe?"

Jack Hotchner blinks at the question. His girlfriend looks at him expectantly as she gestures to the shadow-box on the wall that holds six dead sprigs of _something_ that he's never noticed before. Jack stutters, "It's always been there."

Elena hitches an eyebrow. "And you've never noticed it."

"It's not like I live here anymore," he says defensively.

She sighs. "And I'm guessing you didn't notice the silver mistletoe stocking hooks on the mantle or the mistletoe garland on the hearth or the fourteen or so mistletoe ornaments on the tree. Oh, and your dad is wearing a tie with mistletoe designs, designs which also match his sweater, his tie bar, his watch band... You're telling me you missed his _socks_? Jack, they're _purple!_ "

Jack pinches his nose. Jesus. He's embarrassed because, well, he never pays much attention how his parents decorate for Christmas. It's not like, all of a sudden, his parents massively changed up the displays. Everything is, for the most part, the way he remembers. As for what his dad wears … he always wears some weird holiday sweater on Christmas Day, as does Papi.

"You seriously never noticed?" she asks in disbelief. "Swear to God, the living room looks like they hijacked an entire mistletoe gift shop and then some."

He scowls. It's a sore point with him, because the profiling gene completely skipped over him. He's been raised by two incredibly gifted agents whose job is to notice things. If Elena picked up on all the patterns so quickly, why couldn't he? How many times has he heard his dads say, _You need to be more observant._

Elena gives him a look before taking a step back. "I'm going for my masters in horticulture, Jackie."

"And?"

She arches an eyebrow. "Plants are my thing, okay?"

"Okay," he agrees as he huffs out a sigh. "Can we just drop it?"

"So you're not going to ask them?"

"No," he says lamely, because there's always a whole lot more going on with his dads than he can ever wrap his head around. Of all the things he picked up on – what the _hell_ is up with them celebrating freaking _Columbus Day_ like they do?—he knows that there's always going to be something about his parents he'll never quite understand. To have his girlfriend just _get it right away_ annoys the shit out of him. It prompts him to say, "If you need to know so badly, why don't _you_ ask them about it?"

In the six months he's been dating Elena Marscapinez, he's never seen her back away from a dare. This time is no different. She walks into the living room, hands on her hips, and asks, "Mister Hotchner? What's the deal with you and the mister celebrating the _Arceuthobium_?"

His father looks at Elena as if he has absolutely no clue what she is talking about. He glances around the room, as if noticing the decorations for the first time.

Predictably, Papi comes in for the save. "You mean _Phoradendron Leucarpum_."

Her eyes narrow before she gives the room another once-over. "Okay, the _Phoradendron_. But there are five species from the _Arceuthobium_ family in that shadowbox in the hallway."

"Correct," Papi nods his head, just like he always does when someone gives the right answer.

"All you need is a cash register here and you can open up a _Phoradendron_ gift shop."

His parents don't react, not even a hitch of their eyebrows.

Jack can tell that Elena wants to press further. She always taps her left thigh with her index finger when she's deciding something. He spares a glance to his dad, who's sitting in the wingback chair and favoring Elena with that bland look that says, _Keep going._ But it's not a real friendly look. It's the look that always scares the crap out his friends. Papi's expression is similar, except his head is cocked slightly to the side. Jack knows they've ceded control of the conversation to Elena and are waiting for her to go on.

The silence is uncomfortable. Jack hates when his parents do this, because they always swear that they're not trying to be intimidating. So Jack steps forward, because he should have known his dads would react this way, and says, "Elena's working on her masters in herbicide physiology."

"Virginia Tech has the Plant Pathology, Physiology, and Weed Science department, correct?" Papi inquires.

"Yeah," Elena answers but her tone is wary.

"Have you chosen a specific area of focus?" his dad asks, friendly and inviting as if the earlier verbal standoff hadn't happened.

She looks over her shoulder and all Jack can do is shrug. He wonders if she's going to be pissed at him later, because he dared her to confront his dads and didn't give her a warning about what they can be like when they don't want to discuss something. Elena just rolls her eyes as she turns back toward his parents and answers the question.

The rest of the day goes by smoothly (thank God). Elena's excited to have someone understand her work and spends a bulk of the time discussing her proposed thesis with Papi. Jack ends up helping his dad in the kitchen with dinner. They don't talk much—they never have—and Jack is relieved his father doesn't seem peeved about the whole mistletoe interrogation.

Best of all, his dads don't give him any shit about Elena sleeping with him in his room. At one in the morning, Jack realizes why: it's a massive pain in the ass to share a twin bed with another person, no matter how much they love each other. So he wanders down to the kitchen—he supposes he inherits his middle-of-the-night snack raid tendencies from his papi—and is surprised to find both his parents at the breakfast bar. They're munching on the cookies, carrots and apples that they still leave out for Santa even though Jack stopped believing when he was ten.

Elena's the first person who doesn't tease him about the tradition. She even whips up a small batch of biscochos and hot chocolate so that Santa knows there's a Latina in the house. It makes him love her a bit more.

His parents eat in silence, taking turns dipping the biscochos in the single mug of hot chocolate. It's then that Jack recognizes the pattern on his dad's sleepwear, sleepwear which he has worn every Christmas for the past ten years. "Seriously?" Jack blurts out. " _Mistletoe PJs_?"

His dad raises is eyebrows in surprise and, just like this afternoon, he looks at his clothing as if it's the first time he's seen them. "Hmmm," he says and reaches for another cookie. He offers it to Jack. "Would you like one?"

He sighs dramatically but then shuffles over to the empty stool next to his dad and accepts the cookie. "So how long have you had this whole Cult of Mistletoe going on?"

"Cult?" Papi echoes. "A cult implies that …"

"You know what I mean, Papi," Jack interrupts. He peers into the earthenware pitcher that Elena had made the hot chocolate in and is disappointed that it's all gone. Figures. Both his parents are cocoa fiends.

His dads exchange glances and their eyebrows do that little dance when they do that whole "unspoken conversation" thing. It's annoying.

"I kissed Spencer for the first time under a sprig of oak mistletoe," his dad finally says.

"Two years later, your dad proposed," Papi chimes in.

"I _know_ that," he tells them but shakes his head. He realizes that his parents aren't going to give up any more information. He doesn't get The Look, but he recognizes what the short statements mean. If he wants the full explanation, he'll have to interrogate them and the last thing he wants to do at one in the morning is interrogate his parents. It doesn't stop him from grousing, "So you decided to go overboard with the mistletoe every year in honor of it? Elena gave me the rundown of the rest of the stuff she saw. Cocktail forks? For real?"

His dad grins. "I like her."

"Very observant," Papi adds.

"Well spoken."

"Determined."

"I'm surprised she didn't pursue her line of questioning earlier."

Jack rolls his eyes. "Because you both gave her _The Look_ , the one you swear you're not trying to intimidate my friends with."

Again, his parents exchange glances. It's Papi who apologizes, "We didn't mean to, Jack."

"I don't think we scared her off," Dad tacks on, because they've done that to more than one of Jack's girlfriends. Elena is the first to take his parents' behavior in stride, the first one not to stare slack-jawed at Papi's encyclopedic knowledge of almost everything and the first one not to gush over his dad's impressive FBI career.

"She made biscochos." Papi snags another cookie off the plate.

"These are really good, especially with the cocoa."

"Which you bogarted most of," Papi chides and his dad gives that wide teasing grin as he waggles his eyebrows.

The banter is a bit more frustrating than usual, so Jack leans back in his seat, crosses his arms over his chest, and demands, "Will you just _tell_ me about the mistletoe?"

"We already did," his parents say in unison.

Jack smacks himself on the forehead. "I really hate when you both do this."

Several moments of silence go by before his dad lets out a sigh and murmurs, "Sorry, Jack. It's just … difficult to explain."

"Why don't you close your eyes and try?" he sasses back, because it's the tactic his dad always uses when Jack is at a loss for words. _That_ comment earns The Look from both of them. He throws up his hands in frustration, slides off the stool and takes a step towards the door.

"Jack…" His dad reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder. Jack stills and glances back. His dad meets his gaze. "It's complicated. It's …."

"What are you giving Elena for Christmas?" Papi interrupts.

This time, Jack gives _him_ The Look, because of all times for Papi to come in for the save … Jack turns and his father's hand drops from his shoulder. He crosses his arms over his chest again and raises an eyebrow. "A monogrammed, leather folio for her tablet. The one she has is falling apart."

Papi smiles as he nods enthusiastically. "So let's say that's the first gift you've given her."

"Way to change the subject, Papi."

"I'm not changing the subject. We are talking about gifts," Papi tells him. "Anyway, that's your first gift to her. Let's say it becomes symbolic of your first holiday together. The next year, you give her a monogrammed leather cover for her cell phone. It matches the folio."

"Did you put too much Kahlua in the cocoa again, Papi? Because you're not making sense."

Dad chuckles. "You're missing the point, buddy."

"I _always_ miss the point, Dad," he fires back sourly.

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Jack," Papi sighs with that little shake of his head. "As I was saying, the second gift you give Elena is the matching cell phone cover. In return, she gives you a pen with your initials engraved on the barrel. From that moment forward, exchanging monogrammed gifts becomes your tradition with Elena."

"You don't think about it," Dad smiles as he reaches out and takes Papi's hand. "It's just something you do. You find yourself scouring through online catalogues …"

"… tracking down independent artisans and craftsmen because you want something unique …"

"Some gifts are silly. Some are serious."

"There may be a year that you don't want to exchange gifts."

"There may be a year that you're convinced you'll never be able to again. But you do. Every year. For better or for worse."

"Because that monogrammed gift has become something between you and Elena. Something that words are inadequate to describe." Papi smiles shyly at his dad. "It becomes magic."

"Someone will ask you what the deal is with all the monogrammed stuff in your house, because you're going to end up with a toilet seat cover with your initials on it eventually …" They both snicker before Dad continues, "The only answer you can give that adequately explains it is that the first Christmas gift you gave Elena was monogrammed."

"The reason you chose that particular gift becomes unimportant. The fact that you gave it to her? Well, that becomes the symbolic foundation of your relationship."

"Does that make sense?" his dad asks him.

It takes a minute or two for Jack to process all they're saying, to analyze it and search for the hidden meanings that always seem to be there when his parents talk like this. He gets the point—at least he thinks he does—and his anger and frustration at their earlier obstinacy melts away.

His parents aren't really goofy when it comes to expressing themselves. They're not all that showy either. In public, it's hard to tell that they're married. Hell, in private, sometimes it's just as difficult.

The whole mistletoe thing, as weird as it is, broadcasts their love for each other brighter than any Vegas sign.

"Wow," Jack breathes out in awe.

"Yeah," his dad agrees as lifts Papi's hand to place a kiss on his knuckles. "Wow."

**** Finis ****


End file.
